You shouldn't be here
by Imagine69
Summary: Don't make me feel. I'm not strong enough. "Don't give me hope."
1. Chapter 1

It doesn't last long. Seconds, only. Moments. The thrill of justice was becoming more and more fleeting with every kill.

He wipes his blade clean in one smooth movement. This man in front of him had killed dozens, yet he had survived the Snap. So many innocents had not. It was unjust. He deserved to die.

But no sooner had the adrenaline left his veins, Clint felt the hollow emptiness return to his chest, and that all-too-familiar wave of despair. He shoved the feeling down. He couldn't bear to feel. This man was dead. But everyone was still gone.

Or perhaps not everyone.

He'd sensed her of course. He could always tell when she was there. But he'd so desperately ignored it until now. In the stillness, without distraction, he had to acknowledge her presence.

"You shouldn't be here."

He didn't turn around. He couldn't. He simply couldn't face her.

"Neither should you."

Her voice was the same, exactly as he remembered. It hit something deep inside him, tugging at his heartstrings, and his chest began to tighten.

"I've got a job to do."

He had to stay focused.

"Is that what you're calling this?"

She wasn't angry. Not even disapproving. Just...sad. Compassionate. Understanding.

The coolness of the rain was beginning to soak through his clothes. Strange. He hadn't noticed it before.

"Killing all these people isn't going to bring your family back."

No, it wasn't. Thanks for the reminder, Nat. Exactly what he had been trying to forget all these years.

Her voice became determined, and she walked towards him. "We found something. A chance, maybe."

She was close now. He shuddered inwardly. He could feel the walls crumbling as she neared.

"Don't." His voice quavered slightly.

He was finally looking at her. Her eyes were full of concern, and her forehead was creased in a slight frown. "Don't what?" It was like she was almost afraid to hear the answer.

_Don't make me feel. I'm not strong enough_.

"Don't give me hope."

Something shifts in her expression, and in that moment, he knows that she understands completely. "I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you sooner."

Her hand slips into his, cautiously at first, teasing his fingers apart. And then they are holding hands, and he knows that she will bring him home.


	2. Chapter 2

She doesn't let go of his hand until they're in the quinjet and she's settling into the copilot's chair. He stops short behind her, and she turns around to look at him, tilting her head meaningfully at the pilot's seat. He stares for a long moment, then wordlessly slides into the seat next to her. His hands tentatively find their way to the controls, and it's like he's home again but it's all foreign. It's not the quinjet that's changed - it's him.

He doesn't look at her, can't bear to meet her eyes again. Even her mere presence beside him is overwhelming - he can practically feel the waves of emotion emanate from her - compassion, relief, trust...she trusts him to fly them home.

He takes them to the Avenger's complex in upstate New York, and she doesn't protest. It isn't _his_ home, but it's _theirs_. He wouldn't be able to face the empty farm right now anyway, and Natasha knows that.

They land the quinjet outside and unbuckle themselves from their seats. He doesn't move to stand, and she looks at him, green eyes piercing deep into his soul.

'It's okay, Clint. You're ready.'

He merely nods and wills his body to move from the seat. Natasha grabs his hand again and gently pulls him towards the ramp. It's dark outside, and the glint of moonlight makes the grass outside seem to shimmer and shine. The grass is damp, but it's a soft kind of damp, so fresh and full of life. Not murky and gloomy like Tokyo.

He's afraid to go inside, to face any of the others, but Natasha knows this and she leads him through the back door, up several flights of service stairs and through a small window until they end up in his room. She knows all the secret ways in and out now. Five years alone is a lot of time to explore.

Clint rarely used his room at the complex, even when he was an active Avenger, aeons ago. But he's always liked it. Simple, no posters, no paintings. Just a four-poster bed, a desk and a large closet - half for clothes, half for weapons.

He climbs through the window and lands quietly on the floor in the centre of the room, then reaches up to help Natasha through. She doesn't need his help, of course, but she accepts it with a smile. Her hands rest on his shoulders and he lowers her to the floor, and the touch seems to ground him, reminding him that this is real.

The bed's already made for him, with his favourite wool quilt and the sheets embroidered with decorative arrows. The rest of the furniture is clean and dust-free, and when he opens the closet, he finds his spare bow and several sets of clothes already neatly arranged inside.

'I'll let you get settled,' Natasha said. She laid a hand on his shoulder again and squeezed gently, then walked past him towards the door. She stopped, turned, and added. 'It's good to have you back, Clint. I missed you.'

He didn't miss the slight catch in her voice and his stomach churned with guilt. But he ignored it for now and stayed exactly as her was, stock-still in the centre of his room. He couldn't deal with emotions right now.

'Nat.' He spoke for the first time since Tokyo, and she stopped again and glanced over her shoulder. There was a pause as Clint struggled to string words together. Eventually he went with: 'thank you.'

His voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it made her smile.

'Any time, Clint. See you in the morning.'


End file.
